Chapter Three
Arthur woke up at 6:30 because of his alarm to go to the New York Times Center to find a job. Back home in London, he'd been a fairly successful journalist, although his true talents lived in the creative writing areas, rather than objective writing. He yawned and got up to get ready.
Once he was dressed and ready, he made a quick cup of tea, grabbed his coat an umbrella, and left. He made sure he had enough money, and then hailed a cab.
When he arrived at the building, he looked up as high as he could. Rain kept falling in his eyes, and he knew he'd never be able to get used to all of the steel and glass skyscrapers everywhere. It was too extravagant! He grinned at the building, excitement bubbling up inside him quickly, as though he were a child receiving a present.
~===0{O}0===~
30 minutes later, Arthur walked out with a new job as a journalist. He wasn't paying attention where he walked, and accidentally ran into a pale man with light blonde hair. "Terribly sorry, old chap!" He exclaimed, and helped the man up, noticing the camera around his neck. The blonde man looked up at Arthur, and, though he said not a word, nodded with a small smile, saying all was well. Arthur smiled at the man. For some reason he couldn't explain, he felt...happy around the man, as through he were someone very important in his life. "Say, are you a photographer by chance?" Arthur asked. He felt stupid for asking the question, but if the man thought he was idiotic, he didn't show it. He nodded. "Wonderful!" Arthur smiled, "I happen to be a new journalist, so maybe one day we'll end up working together on a story," he said.
The mans bright blue eyes sparkled with excitement. "Now uh...one more thing, old chap, what might your name be?" Arthur asked the odd, seemingly mute, man.
The man simply held one finger to his lips and winked. Arthur chuckled. "Well, I'm Arthur Kirkland. When you decide to tell- uh sorry! I-I didn't mean that!" He said, covering himself for saying 'tell' to a man whom seemed to be mute. Suddenly, he heard a deep laugh come from the man, though his mouth stayed shut. "W-wait, you're not mute?"
The man shook his head, smiling. Arthur sighed. "Then why won't you talk?"
Once again, the man decided to put a finger to his lips. Arthur sighed, but smiled. "Well then! Hopefully see you around, mate," he said, and waved goodbye, letting the mysterious man walk into the building.
Once he returned home, he saw a tinfoil covered bowl on his doorstep. One it was a note. 'Ciao! We stopped by to see if you wanted lunch, but you weren't home!' The handwriting changed, suddenly. 'Hallo. Please accept this pasta as a sort of welcoming gift. Speak with you soon?' It was signed by two different handwriting styles. One flowing and curly, writing the name Feli, and one, stern and bold, writing the name Ludwig. It was obvious to Arthur that Feli had tried writing the note but was getting excited, so Ludwig took over. He smiled and picked up the bowl and walked inside. He hadn't been expecting his move to New York to go so well, and for him to be so lucky. His thoughts drifted back to the pale, silent man he had met outside of the New York Times Center. He felt vaguely connected to him in the oddest way, and he couldn't figure out why. Suddenly, there was a burning pain on his lower back. He jumped up and yelped. He ran to the bathroom and looked in the mirror. He saw that the oddest thing had formed right where he felt the burn. A rose was starting to appear.
Bạn đang đọc truyện trên: AzTruyen.Top